


you know hearts don't break around here

by elizaham8957



Series: Tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (that feels weird to type), Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Graduation, I just want them to be HAPPY okay guys, Missing Moments, post 6a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: “She should have been here,” he whispered, almost too quietly for her to hear, but she did— slowly, she nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it in her own. His fingers twined with hers, his larger palm swallowing her hand whole.“I know,” she said gently. “I think she is. Somewhere, she’s watching down.”“Mmm,” Stiles hummed in agreement. “I think she’d be proud of us. All we’ve made it through.”They make it to graduation, somehow, and Lydia isn't sure exactly how they did it, but there's nowhere she would rather be.





	you know hearts don't break around here

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote something short?? AND canon compliant?? This is new for me. Canon? I don't know her. 
> 
> This was written for a fic prompt thing on tumblr-- the prompt was "things you said when we were the happiest we ever were." If you want to submit one, I'm still taking them [here!](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com/post/163841197274/send-me-a-pairing-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Strangely, Lydia felt like this day had both taken an eternity to come, and had crept up on them out of nowhere.

Carefully, she pulled her curls over her shoulder, regarding herself in the mirror again. She could see the deep burgundy gown still lying on her bed in the reflection, and it set off butterflies in her stomach— she still almost couldn’t believe this was _real._ After everything they’d been through, everything they’d fought against, they had made it to this point, and they were _graduating._

“Lydia, we need to leave,” her mom’s voice echoed downstairs. “Are you almost ready?”

She snapped out of her haze, eyes focused on her reflection again. Her hair was done, makeup impeccable, she was wearing her dress— there was just one thing she was missing.

“Be right down,” she called back to her mom, picking up the velvet box on her dresser. Scott and Stiles had gone with her to pick it out a couple days ago, as an early graduation present to herself— but she hadn’t worn it yet, saving it for today. Gently, she flicked the lid open, looking again at the necklace inside: a tiny silver arrow suspended between two lengths of delicate chain.

Lydia plucked the jewellry from the box, fastening it around her neck and regarding herself again. Her valedictorian speech ran through her mind, looking at that necklace— a reminder that Allison was here with them somehow, even if she wasn’t here physically.

“You ready, sweetie?” her mom asked, appearing in Lydia’s doorway. Her expression softened, seeing her daughter— she smiled, her eyes stopping on the necklace.

“You look beautiful, honey,” Natalie said, stepping into the room. Lydia smoothed down the skirt of her white dress, still trying to shake the nerves clinging to her. “Don’t forget your robe.”

“Thanks,” Lydia responded softly, as her mom helped her shrug it on. She arranged her stoll, draping her honors cords around her neck. Her mom handed her the cap she had decorated earlier this week— “MIT 2015” shined in sparkly letters on the burgundy fabric.

“Okay,” Lydia finally said, taking one last look in the mirror. It seemed surreal, seeing herself in a cap and gown— for a long time, she never truly believed she would make it here. None of them had. Not all of them _had_ made it. Running a finger over the arrow around her throat, she took a deep breath, nodding her head.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

***

“Don’t be nervous,” Malia said, as if it were that easy.

“I’m not nervous,” Lydia insisted. And truly, she wasn’t. There were still butterflies in her stomach, but the prospect of speaking in front of her entire class wasn’t what scared her. She still felt like they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop— that somehow, this was too good to be true.

“You’re gonna be fantastic,” Stiles insisted, squeezing her hand. She smiled at him, straightening his cap with her other hand— his mortarboard, of course, decorated with lightsabers and proudly proclaiming that “the force is strong with this one.”

“Alright, delinquents, let’s line up!” Finstock hollered, accompanied by a long blow of his whistle.

“Why does he even _have_ that?” Scott asked. Malia shrugged, flicking at her tassel.

“I’ll see you after,” Stiles said to Lydia, voice hushed. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she replied, rising on tiptoe to kiss him quickly, before she and Scott headed for the “M” section of the line, Malia and Stiles heading further down.

Graduation itself passed in a blur. Vaguely, she remembered filing on to the lacrosse field, listening as the class president spoke, and then the principal, and then her name was being called, and she was onstage, the entire student body’s eyes on her.

She had practiced her speech enough that she could practically recite it in her sleep— at this point, _Stiles_ probably had it memorized. All eyes stayed trained on her as she spoke of high school, what they had learned, and what they would move on to now.

“These past four years have not been gentle,” Lydia continued, her eyes scanning the crowd. “We’ve endured far more things than any other school has ever had to. And not everyone has made it to stand here with us today.” In the crowd, her eyes found Scott, his expression indescribable— filled with sorrow for all they had lost, yet also overflowing with pride for how far they had come, for everything they had protected these people against. “But we carry these people here in our memory. We keep living for everything they gave up for us. And we will take what we have gone through, and use it to prove that we are so much stronger than everything we have been up against. We will face the world after Beacon Hills with the strength that this town has forced upon us— and we will show it that we are not so easily beaten.”

Cheers erupted from the stands and from the field, but Lydia’s gaze was on Stiles. He was all the way in the back, but she could see the pride in his expression as clear as day, shining brighter than the sun, his lips curled in a small smile. He had that look in his eyes that still just made her freeze with the sheer amount of emotion conveyed— reverence, pride, love, all wound up together, his expression so soft. It was the same look he gave her as he unwound red string from her fingers junior year, or when she told him she would win the Field’s Medal at the winter formal— the same look he had given her when she kissed him on the dirty locker room floor, sunlight streaming through the window, and again when she had found him after he had been erased from their very memories.

He had been looking at her like that for _years,_ and it still took her breath away every time.

She didn’t lose his gaze until she was back in her seat, and Scott was squeezing her hand, his voice catching as he told her how great her speech was. Before she knew it, she was back onstage, a diploma in her hand, and then they were tossing their caps up in the air, Scott pulling her into a bear hug that literally lifted her off the ground.

She vaguely remembered taking picture after picture, some with teachers, some with her mother, but most with her _pack._ Stiles and she had posed together for the Sheriff, both of them beaming at the camera, and Lydia knew with certainty that picture was going to go somewhere in her new dorm room in Boston.

The ceremony had been nice, but she didn’t truly feel content until they were all back at the McCall’s house, strings of lights illuminating the backyard as their friends and family celebrated, Mr. Tate manning the grill and Natalie handing cake out on paper plates. Other people from their grade had come and gone already, leaving just the pack and their families. In all honesty, there was no other way Lydia wanted it.

Lydia sat with Stiles on the outskirts of the party, leaning back into his arms beneath one of the big trees framing the lawn. He’d traded in his dress shirt from graduation for one of his customary flannels, and Lydia loved the feel of it against her back, soft and familiar and just so— _Stiles._

“Hard to believe it’s really ending, huh?” he asked her, breaking the comfortable silence between them. She nodded, leaning into him more, her head fitting into the crook of his neck like a puzzle piece.

“Hard to believe we actually _made_ it this far,” Lydia responded, nudging at his neck with her nose. While she loved Stiles, and he knew that— she made positive that he knew that now, after not saying it back the first time— they generally weren’t this openly affectionate in public. They would hold hands and walk together in the halls, and Stiles would rest a hand on the small of her back when he followed her somewhere— but Lydia genuinely thought that half the school hadn’t realized they were dating until they showed up at prom together. Because really, while everything had changed between them— sometime it still felt like nothing had changed. They were still Stiles and Lydia: best friends, partners, people who cared unconditionally for each other.

Here, among family and friends and her pack, though, Lydia felt more comfortable, more at ease. So she nuzzled into Stiles, sighing in contentment when his arms tightened around her. She still was sometimes struck with overwhelming gratitude that they had managed to get him back. That he had found his way back to them.

“Your speech was really good,” Stiles said, voice quiet. “Have I told you that already?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning her head to smile at him. He grinned down at her, his eyes light, the twinkling glow from the strings of lights making his expression soft and warm. His eyes drifted down to her necklace, one finger gently brushing over the delicate silver arrow.

“She should have been here,” he whispered, almost too quietly for her to hear, but she did— slowly, she nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it in her own. His fingers twined with hers, his larger palm swallowing her hand whole.

“I know,” she said gently. “I think she is. Somewhere, she’s watching down.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed in agreement. “I think she’d be proud of us. All we’ve made it through.”

“We _have_ had to deal with a disproportionate amount of danger and mortal peril, haven’t we?” Lydia asked, almost smirking. Stiles grinned back at her.

“I guess that’s part of the occupation hazard of being best friends with an alpha werewolf.” He sighed, looking off into the distance, shaking his head slowly. “I mean, evil werewolves, evil werewolf _hunters,_ human sacrifices, demonic fox spirits, assassins, Dread Doctors, Ghost Riders—”

“It almost makes 400 miles seem like nothing, doesn’t it?”

Stiles looked down at her again, meeting her eyes. To anyone else, her voice probably sounded light and joking, but Stiles knew her too well. She knew it was stupid to be worried— like he said, they had survived much worse. They’d been separated by the Wild Hunt, and Stiles had been physically erased from her memory, and now she was worried about something as trivial as an hour and a half long _flight?_

“Hey,” Stiles murmured, untangling their hands so he could run one over her cheek, cupping her face in his palm. He could clearly tell exactly what she was thinking, and she sighed at the comfort of his fingers running through her hair, his other arm still looped around her. Gently, he leaned down and kissed her, soft and light and overflowing with emotion. Sometimes Lydia was just amazed by how he seemed to _melt_ around her. It was one of her favorite things about being loved by Stiles.

Slowly, they pulled apart, noses still brushing, and Lydia breathed him in, reveling in this moment where she could just hover in his space, held close to him. It was one of the best feelings in the world to her— she really couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt so at ease and comfortable and utterly _content_ as she did now, with Stiles’s arm around her and his hand in her hair.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he assured her, his forehead still resting on hers. “I’m not worried.”

“Really?” she asked, a grin playing at her lips, her fears now put at ease. “Because I distinctly remember you freaking out about us all going different places at the beginning of the year.”

“Well, yeah, back then” he said, shrugging. “But not anymore.” He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips lingering there, and she breathed him in, intoxicated by how insanely happy she was.

He grinned at her, his eyes getting that look in them again, all soft and full of pure reverence. “We’re gonna make it work.” She grinned back at him, positive they somehow would. “We always seem to figure it out."


End file.
